


Midnight Craving

by TourmalineGreen



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, F/M, Prompt Fill, Unsafe Sex, dabs in reylo, eyyyyyyy, rey fill too, rey you did ask for the special sauce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineGreen/pseuds/TourmalineGreen
Summary: Ben and Rey have been dancing around each other for three and a half years. Sometimes anger is something else entirely. (Sometimes you just need to have sex in a car instead of having a conversation.)





	Midnight Craving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heliocentrics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliocentrics/gifts).



> "why do i want a one-shot of rey and ben having a deep conversation in the drive thru after ben has a meltdown at a skywalker family dinner and then they fuck it out in the parking lot afterwards >> well after 2 days of trying and failing to put words in a google doc for this, ive completely failed, so if someone wants to go ahead and write this for me that'd be great thanks"
> 
> *dabs in reylo* here ya go

“I can’t  _believe_  you said that!”

“I was angry—“

“Angry isn’t an excuse!” Rey, as ever, latches onto his weakest parts and won’t just fucking let it go. Ben’s hands tighten on the wheel as they creep forward in the drive-through line. “You told your mother you wished she’d just die already so you’d never have to hear about—“

“I fucking know what I said, okay?”

“Do you?

He sighs. Rakes his hand through his hair.

“Because I don’t think you do,” she presses. “I think you just say whatever nasty, mean-spirited, hateful thing that pops into your brain, so you can stab the people that love you right where it hurts them the most.”

He scoffs at this—not at how right she is, about his impulsivity, but about how hilarious it is that people,  _his_  family in particular, might love him.

“What?”

“The idea that any of those people  _love_  me is—“

“They do love you!”

“—asinine. They  _know_  what I am and they don’t give a shit that I—“

“Ben, listen to yourself!” Rey cries out, as the Volvo ahead of them pauses to order. “Do you even hear yourself? Of course they love you!”

“If they love me then they’ve sure as  _fuck_  got a great way of showing it!” Ben explodes, and his window is rolled down already so the owner of the Volvo pauses, glances back at his car.

“Fuck,” Ben mutters. “Just… fucking drop it, okay?”

“No,” she says.

Ben turns and glares at her. “Forgive me for not trusting your assessment of my entire family’s dynamic. You haven’t been here—you don’t  _know_ —“

“Oh please, I don’t have to have attended your bris to know that your family loves you.”

“That doesn’t even—you weren’t  _born_ —“

Rey just grins at him, that feral smile she has when she knows she’s flustered Ben beyond all hope of recovery. And just like that, the fight goes out of him.

He hangs his head down. Sets his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Rey replies, a little coolly, “tell her.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I mean it,” she says. “Text her. Tell her you’re sorry, and you’re a giant angry baby, and you’re going to go to therapy and learn how to be a nice good boy.”

“Rey…”

Anyone else would hear the threat in his tone. Anyone else would quell before it. But Rey isn’t anyone else. She’s… what even is she. A family friend. Luke’s employee. Someone who just showed up and decided that if Ben Solo didn’t appreciate his family, she fucking would. Maybe he’s spent so long being threatened by her that he couldn’t see past the haze of irritation to realize he—

“Do it.”

“Okay, okay.” Ben takes his phone out of the center console. Thumbs open the messaging app, types with his huge thumbs on the small device. “Happy?”

He holds the phone up to show her what he’s sent. It’s a simple apology. One that, Rey sees, Leia is already replying to.

“Thank you.”

The Volvo driver finishes his order. Ben slowly crawls up to take its place. “What do you want?”

“A number six, extra pickles, no onions,” she says. “Make the drink a shake and make the fries into the waffle fries—and get dipping sauce!”

Ben smiles at her and rolls his eyes. “You eat like a garbage can.”

“It’s a garbage can, not a garbage can’t, Ben.”

He shakes his head, and turns away to where the speaker is crackling. Gives his own order—grilled chicken burger, hold the sauce, with a salad and water—and Rey’s.

When it’s time to pull up to the first window and pay, he gets his wallet out from his back pocket.

“We can—“

“I got it,” he says. “My treat.”

He knows full well Rey lives in a dump of an apartment—it’s where he’s driving her right now, after the disaster that was his family’s gathering—and lives off of ramen and store-brand cereal 85% of the time. Sometimes, when he drops her off at her place, he stays and watches her, just to make sure that she gets upstairs okay. He has to fight the irrational and, frankly, overprotective urge to get out and make sure her door is locked, too.

Her place is tiny. And he has so much extra space in his condo…

Ben hands over his card to the employee at the first window. As he gets it back, the window slides shut.

“I’m sorry,” he says, tucking his card back in his wallet. “I… I’m a giant asshole, and I know it, and it’s just—“

“You’re not, though—“

“Rey, I know… fuck, I’m just digging myself deeper. I’m gonna shut up now.”

“No, tell me.”

Ben turns and looks into her eyes. She’s so fucking beautiful, and that’s what gets him. She’s beautiful, and kind, and funny, and smart as hell, and he’s this big, lumbering mess of a person, a flailing, injured animal, who only ever hurts the things he touches.

Which is why he’s never touched her. Even if it’s sometimes all he can think of.

“I know your family were assholes, and I’m sorry for ruining the time you get to spend with mine,” he says. “I… and you’re right, I don’t always know what to do with… what I feel. I don’t have good ways to… I’m not good at that, not like you are.”

She tilts her head at him. “I’m… Ben, do you think I don’t get angry too?”

“I, no, I don’t mean—I’m not gonna tell you how you feel, that’s—“

“Because I  _do_  get angry. I’m angry all the time at them. My family.” Rey’s sitting nearly sideways in the seat, the seatbelt tucked under her arm, her knee drawn up and Ben has to force himself to focus on the words she’s saying, not the way her tiny shorts hike up between her legs, revealing far too much pale, creamy, inner thigh. Forget fast food, her thighs are going to be the death of him.

“But you know what I do with that anger? I find a good outlet for it. I don’t let it hurt me, or the ones I love.”

At this, Ben’s gaze snaps back up to hers. Her cheeks are colored faintly, and she looks away, looking guilty, like she’s admitted far more than she’d meant to.

“You’re right,” he says, then lets out a deep and weary sigh. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

Rey smirks at him, and pulls her own phone out of her pocket. “Can you just repeat that directly into the microphone, right here?”

Ben laughs.

“I just want to be able to play it back, later,” she teases. “When I’m—“

“Rey is always right,” Ben drawls, reaching out and holding her wrist in his much-larger hand and drawing her phone closer, despite the fact that he knows she hasn’t even unlocked the screen. “She’s a genius with an IQ of four-thousand. And she’s always right.”

“Ooh,” Rey coos at him comically, leaning forward—letting him tug her forward. “Do go on. That’s just the sort of thing a girl likes to hear. You really  _have_  cornered the market on dirty talk…”

“She’s intelligent, and beautiful, and the smartest, most capable, most resilient person I know—“

Ben catches the light in her eyes, the sudden shift in awareness, understanding, right as the employee at the second window calls out: “So sorry to keep you waiting!”

He lets her hand go, then, and turns to take the bags. One huge bag for all of Rey’s order, and a smaller one for his.

He hands over her shake. Puts his water down in the cup holder.

Drives slowly around the curve and out to the parking lot.

“Ben, wait.”

“Rey…”

“Unless this is another thing you don’t want to talk about, in which case I’m absolutely going to drop it, but…”

Ben sighs, and moves around to the back of the parking lot. Hidden away from the bright street light, beside a strip-mall nail place and insurance place, both of which are closed and dark this time of night. There’s nobody around.

And his hands are shaking too much to drive right now.

“Do you mean all that?”

He closes his eyes. His car smells like fries and burger and an unscented mixture of regret and mortification. As usual, he’s said too much, gone too far. Except this time, it’s not in violence or rage. It’s like he’s peeled back his own skin, shown her the heart and bone and muscle beneath it.

It hurts.

“Rey…”

“Ben, tell me the truth.”

He takes a deep breath. Exhales. “Yes.”

She’s silent for a long, long time.

Then: The rustle of a paper bag. He hopes that she’s getting into her food instead of into the implications of this conversation, but then he feels—

Oh god, he feels her, her hand on his cheek, her thumb caressing down the bridge of his nose. His eyes are still shut, and he exhales, slowly, a shudder. Something wound tight in his chest clenches.

“Ben, look at me.”

He opens his eyes; he’s hers to command, always has been, always will be. The depth of his affection for her sends him spiraling when he sees the concern and affection in her face.

“You feel that… for me?”

“Of course I do.” His response is swift. “I—Rey, you… I’m not the kind of person who—“

“Stop telling me what kind of man you are, and show me.”

The ferocity in her eyes makes all of the blood in his body rush south. She can't be asking what he thinks she's asking...

But then, her hands are on his shirt, working at the buttons there before he even realizes that he’s jabbed at her seat belt buckle and released her from the webbing, his hands on her hips as he hauls her over the console and onto his lap. She straddles him easily, legs splayed wide over his thighs, back flush against the steering wheel. Ben runs his seat back as far as it will go, reclines it to give her—them—more room, because what’s happening here is inevitable, as destructive and transformative and cataclysmic as a meteor entering earth’s atmosphere.

His hands go to her breasts, and she makes a noise that's low and soft and  _good_  and tugs on his bottom lip with her teeth. Sloppy, overeager kisses. First kisses, and then second, and third, and countless more—so many that they all blur into  _wet_  and  _good_  and  _Rey_. 

She tugs at his hand, a mirror image of the way he'd held hers, and brings it down between her legs. And oh, she's wet and good down there, too. So fucking wet; he slips two fingers in and she bucks against him, crying out for more.

Crying out his name. 

It's a paltry amount of foreplay, but maybe the last three and a half years have been all the foreplay they needed. Another time, he hopes—god, does he hope—that he'll have a chance to do all the things he's not doing to her right now. But now, he needs to move. She needs him. She's begging of him, and he's all too happy to oblige. It’s awkward, cramped as hell and slightly uncomfortable—time is moving too quickly, and yet it’s syrup-slow and sweet the way the world seems to slow down—but Ben manages to get his dick out of his pants and Rey tugs her loose-fitting shorts to the side with her underwear, and together she sinks down onto him and it’s bliss, it’s everything, it’s perfect—

“Rey…” he can only groan her name. It’s like it’s the only word he knows, the only word that matters.

Rey can only gasp and cry out when he starts moving. There isn’t much space to move, but she makes it work, rolling her hips with each thrust and quickly adapting to the rhythm he sets. Ben’s head hits the seat rest and he knows he’s about fifteen seconds away from coming. But still, he opens his eyes. Looks up at the way Rey’s face is haloed by the distant street light, the way her hair is half-undone.

The way her eyes are wide open.

Seeing him. Seeing  _him_.

Not going away in her mind, not using him for a quick fuck.

Him.

It's a blur. Like the memory of a dream, like he's dreaming right now; he's all sensation, nerves alight with it, singing with the pure cosmic rightness of being inside of her. Tight and good. Slick and movement. She clings to him and rides him and clamps down around him as she flexes her legs and—

_“Rey!”_

He should be ashamed of how wrecked he sounds when he comes, then, but he really, really isn’t. She grins when he says it, then her smile turns to a gasp as he feels her hand down between them, working at her clit so she can follow him down. He’s still shaking, still shuddering out his fierce, sharp climax when he feels her hand speed up.

“I love you,” he says—just letting it out, telling her the truth. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Rey cries out, folding over him as she comes, burying her face against his neck, his open collar. He feels her body clench down on his dick and it makes his vision white out.

When he comes back, he’s petting her back up under her shirt; she’s laughing softly, peppering his neck and his jaw and his face with kisses.

Her shorts are… a mess.

He’s a mess.

But he’s never felt happier. Or more at peace.

* * *

 "I can't believe we—"

They both say it at once; laugh, stop, adjust. She slips off of him, he slips out of her, still half-hard and slicking their combined fluids down on the open fly of his black jeans. 

"I can't believe we did that," he says, voice low and sated and content. 

"I can't believe we waited so long," Rey replies, clambering back into her seat, still somehow fully clothed, but looking thoroughly wrecked in a way that makes Ben feel a fierce, primal sort of admiration. "Ben, you have to know, I... I love your family, but I didn't stick around for them. I mean—"

"I don't want to think about family right now," he says, with a smirk. He really, really doesn't. But he's so soft and relaxed, she could probably push him out of the car and run him over and he'd thank her for it. 

"You know what I mean," Rey replies. She pushes her hair back into its bun, takes off the elastic and rights it. "I stayed for you, is what I'm trying to say. Because I wanted..." 

The thought that someone like her could ever want someone like him would knock him flat on his ass, if he hadn't already been sitting down. Ben regains something resembling conscious thought and tucks his dick back into his boxer-briefs. He tugs his jeans back up, buttoning the fly. 

"This isn't a one-time thing for me," she says, all guarded hesitance. "I mean—if you want—"

"Yeah," Ben says, wetting his lips with his tongue. "I want. Whatever you want to give me, that's what I want."

Rey smiles, reassurance warming her flushed and sweaty face. "Good."


End file.
